


What I'm Worth

by roxashighwind



Series: 2018 MCU Bingo [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Assassins & Hitmen, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Rated for assassination and swears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-15 21:28:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14798292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roxashighwind/pseuds/roxashighwind
Summary: He flips the three deadbolts and slides the chain along its little track before turning moving away from the door. “I will never understand how you get around so fast.” Clint lets his bag slide from his shoulder. He leaves it next to the arm of the couch for a moment. He grabs two slices of pizza from the box - thankfully pepperoni and not the Hawaiian that he knows Wade likes to get sometimes - and stacks them together.“Shortcuts,” Wade replies with a shrug.Clint drags his bag to the table in the near the kitchen and drops into the pulled out chair. “Magic shortcuts,” he grumbles, and shoves half a slice of pizza in his mouth. He chews, grateful for the food, and hefts the bag onto the table. “You make the call during your magic shortcuts?”“Sent the pictures and everything. Money’s already where it belongs.”--Clint and Wade are guns for hire. They work pretty well together, most of the time. James Barnes throws a bit of a wrench in their latest hit.





	What I'm Worth

**Author's Note:**

> Fifth prompt fill for the [2018 MCU Bingo](http://mcubingo.tumblr.com)!  
> Ship: Clint Barton/Bucky Barnes ; Prompt: Assassins or Spies
> 
> All of my fills (this first card and future cards) will be in a series, though they will not be related; each fill will stand on its own!
> 
> This completes my first bingo!!
> 
> This fic is some odd amalgamation of all the versions of Clint and Bucky and Wade and Jessica that I know, thrown into a world where there's no powers but Stark Industries is still quite powerful/advanced.

Clint hates this roof. He hates all roofs like this, even though they’re good for knowing when someone is sneaking up on you. Which, sure, has its advantages, but there’s gravel pressing into the bare skin of Clint’s forearms, and the sensitive skin below his navel where his shirt has ridden up. He’s been spread out on this roof for several hours, waiting (impatiently) for his target to arrive. He knows they will, it’s just an annoying waiting game when small bits of rock are trying to get a bit too friendly with him. 

He groans (mentally, he’s not going to give away his position by making actual noise) and shifts minutely to the right. He shoves away the pain he feels - it’s not the time to focus on that right now. A glint in the window he’s been focusing on draws his attention away from the gravel trying to gouge its way under his skin.  _ Finally _ .

There’s a kind of peace that comes over him as he chokes up on his rifle. It’s nothing like the calm he feels when he’s got his bow in his hands, but when he’d taken this job it was with the caveat that he use bullets instead of arrows. That kind of bums him out; he’s got a signature for a reason, but he can’t complain too much because there’s already a quarter of a million sitting in one of his account for this. 

He breathes, lines up the shot, and waits for the right moment.

Three…

Two…

The window shatters.

Clint hadn’t pulled the trigger. 

“Fuck.  _ Fuck _ .” He doesn’t scramble up, though it’s a near thing. The trajectory was wrong - the shot that shattered the window of his target’s office had come from Clint’s right. He quickly disassembles his rifle, stuffing it into the case with practiced motions. He shoves the carrier into his bag, slings the bag over his shoulder, and bolts for the door that will take him back into the building. 

“ _ You took too long _ .” 

He winces at the crackle in the comm, right in his ear. “You got trigger happy. Again,” he huffs in return, booking it down the spiralling stairwell. He debates dropping himself a few floors through the center of the stairway, but discards the thought. “Confirm kill?”

“ _ Doing it. Get to the rendezvous _ .” 

“On my way.” Clint slows when he gets closer to ground level; can’t be out of breath if he runs into anyone or it will look suspicious. He hopes that Wade doesn’t get caught checking on the mark, and for the time being he just has to trust the guy. He knows that Wade can take care of himself, that he’ll more likely than not make it to the rendezvous, but there’s a small part of him that worries that Wade’s a little too… Well. Wade’s a ‘little too’ a lot of things, and he sighs as he finally hits the first floor. 

No one notices him as he slips out of the stairwell. He’s just another college student, making his way out of the building with the change of classes. He blends into the crowd and across campus. No one seems alarmed, and Clint hopes it stays that way for a long enough to get away.

\--

He makes it to the apartment building without incident. He takes the stairs, not wanting to get trapped in the elevator (a thing he worries about more than he cares to admit) and lets himself in to the apartment they’ve been using for the last three weeks. 

Wade’s waiting for him, sprawled on the ratty couch, a pizza box open on his stomach. “Hey. Took you long enough.”

He flips the three deadbolts and slides the chain along its little track before turning moving away from the door. “I will never understand how you get around so fast.” Clint lets his bag slide from his shoulder. He leaves it next to the arm of the couch for a moment. He grabs two slices of pizza from the box - thankfully pepperoni and not the Hawaiian that he knows Wade likes to get sometimes - and stacks them together. 

“Shortcuts,” Wade replies with a shrug.

Clint drags his bag to the table in the near the kitchen and drops into the pulled out chair. “Magic shortcuts,” he grumbles, and shoves half a slice of pizza in his mouth. He chews, grateful for the food, and hefts the bag onto the table. “You make the call during your magic shortcuts?”

“Sent the pictures and everything. Money’s already where it belongs.” 

“Good.” He unzips the bag to pull out his gun case one handed, the other still occupied by pizza. “You suck, by the way.”

Wade shrugs again, Clint sees it out of the corner of his eye. “Mark was in position for two full minutes before I did anything. You were taking forever and I wanted to get back to watch the new episode of My Little Pony.” 

Clint rolls his eyes and finishes off one slice of pizza. “Whatever. Just. Give me a bit more credit next time.” 

“Whatever.”

“Did you clean your gun?”

“What are you, my mom?”

He chuckles. “No, thank god.” He lets the ‘conversation’ lull as he finishes his pizza. With the pizza done, Clint rubs his hands off on his jeans and gets to work cleaning his rifle even though he never fired it. For good measure, he grabs Wade’s as well and cleans it, too.

\--

James Barnes is frustrated. He’s got three deadlines fast approaching and personal security that’s breathing down his neck, ‘protecting’ him because of threats to his life. He wants to punch something, but that’s more paperwork that he’s willing to deal with at the moment. Instead, he kicks his feet up on his desk, leans back in his chair. He folds his hands behind his head and stares at the ceiling. 

“Jamie, you gotta do your fuckin’ work.”

“Can’t tell me what to do, Jess.” He lets his head loll to the side, gives a little smirk. “Yer not my boss.” 

“I can break your thumbs without blinking.”

“Yeah? You wanna try?” 

She rolls her eyes and folds her arms over her chest. “Not worth my time.” She blows her fringe out of her face, the motion barely detracting from her ‘I can kill you’ aura.

“Well that’s just rude.” James sighs and sits up, feet back on the floor. He turns toward his computer, an expansive array of monitors. “I can lock you out of the building.” 

She laughs, a short huff of breath. “We’re circling back to me breaking your thumbs.” Jessica leans against the wall, arms still crossed. “Get your work done, Jamie, or I’m gonna call your sister.”

They stare at each other around the edge of one of James’ monitors. Unfortunately, he knows that Jessica isn’t bluffing. “Fuck. Fine.” He grabs the stylus and pulls the left monitor forward on its adjustable arm, carefully angling it so he can use it comfortably. He keeps eye contact, glaring, until he absolutely has to look down at what he’s attempting to do.

James hears Jessica’s pleased chuckle and chooses to be the better man and ignore it. The deadline for the design on his screen is just a few days away and he is determined not to submit it late. The design is for a new, aesthetically pleasing prosthetic attachment point cover that should help kids with prosthetics feel a little bit better during those times they have to do things without their mechanical limbs.

He loses himself to the process, tweaking the design until he’s happy with it. He hums as he works and is pleased when Jessica joins in every now and then. 

“-nch.” 

James looks up after saving his files three times and sending the schematics and documentation to his lead. “What?”

“You almost missed lunch. Are you done?” 

He stretches, back, neck, and shoulders stiff from how he’d been working over the touch screen. “Oh.” There are satisfying pops along his spine, and the plates covering his left shoulder shift in a way that makes his whole side go a bit tingly before relaxing. “Got it done though.”

“Sure, whatever. Get up, I’m hungry.” 

“You’re always hungry.”

“So are you.”

They leave James' office, walking in line with each other, and pick up guards as they go until they're flanked front and back. "Y'know... I can handle myself."

"Your fancy arm isn't gonna save you every time someone tries to kill you, Jamie." 

"Stark built my arm with all the bells and whistles. I think it'll do the trick."

"You're an idiot." 

"Smarter 'n you," he returns easily. 

They're halfway across the skywalk when it happens, and isn't that just the most cliche thing? Glass sprays around them, and his heart rate skyrockets. 

“Get down!” Jessica shouts. She shoves him to the floor, and the other four close in on them. There’s a splintering hole in the left side of the skywalk windows (relative to where they were headed), and she’s got one of Stark’s fancy shields up in front of her. She stands her ground, eyes raking over the buildings across from the skywalk. 

“Don’t get shot, Jess,” he gasps, winded from being forced to the floor. James is surprised that the hit missed him. 

“Mister Barnes. We’re going to move you. Get ready to run on three,” one of the security officers - James thinks his name is Salvini - tells him.

Jessica chances a glance backward at him as another bullet smashes through the skywalk glass. “Go with them. They’ll get you to a secure room.” 

James nods, and gets ready for the security guy’s signal. “Don’t die, Jess. I’m gonna be so pissed if you let yourself get killed.” He watches as the security guy on his right signals the one who spoke first, and he braces to run. 

“One… two…” Salvini pauses, waits for the gunshots to stop. “Three. Book it, Mister Barnes.” He and the other three security officers create a tight unit around James and they corral him across the skywalk.

He bolts, surrounded by the guards and the sound of gunfire. He doesn’t like that he has to leave Jessica there in the open, hates it actually, but he also doesn’t want to get shot. James throws himself forward, running like his life depends on it (it does), herded to the far stairwell by the guards. The door opens, and they almost tumble through onto the landing.

“No stopping now, Mister Barnes. We need to get you to a secure location.” Salvini calls out orders to the others, and the tight circle urges James down the stairs. 

There are guns in the hands of the two to James’ left and right, and it looks like Salvini has a knife, or maybe… maybe it’s a sword? What the hell? That’s all the warning he gets before he’s shoved unceremoniously through the stairwell entry point for the basement. The guards crowd him, cutting off his escape. 

Two gunshots ring out and the guards on his left and right crumple. James stares, horrified, at the gun in the rear guard’s hand. Costello? Was that the name he’d been introduced with? What a thing to focus on as the gun is aimed squarely at his own forehead. “Inside job, huh?” he asks because he’s bad at keeping his mouth shut. Jess would tell him not to antagonize the guys that want to kill him, but since when has he ever really listened to her advice?

"You're not that smart, are you?" Salvini asks.

"Excuse you?" James is starting to think that maybe Salvini and Costello are fake names and that he's in far more trouble than he thought. He takes a swing at Salvini, aiming with his state of the art, high tech, extremely sturdy metal prosthetic arm straight at Salvini's head. Salvini dodges, and then grapples him; he's a lot stronger than he looks.

"Aww, bro." Costello groans. "Mistake." 

Those are the last words James hears before there's a sharp pain in his neck and everything goes dark.

\--

“Dude. We weren’t supposed to capture him. We’re supposed to kill him.”

“ _ I’m _ supposed to kill him.”

James keeps his eyes closed and tries to control his breathing. He’s been kidnapped before, and all the training Jess gave him for keeping himself alive in this kind of situation is running on a loop in his head. 

“You really wanna bring that up now? Right now?”

“Don’t make a fight out of this. You’re the one who didn’t want to actually get out of the building before popping him. You made me leave bodies in the basement, which is in the top three worst places to leave bodies.”

“Oh do tell, smartass.” 

The hired guns seem to be fighting between themselves. He thinks he knows which is which; Salvini is a lot more sarcastic sounding, so the other is Costello. He wonders what their real names are, though now isn’t exactly the time to ask. 

“He’s awake.”

“He is not.”

“Salvini, you unobservant fuck…” 

Something sharp drags along the edge of James’ jaw. He slowly opens his eyes, since he’s been found out anyway, and finds Costello a  _ lot _ closer to him that he’d expected. 

“Told you,” he adds, not looking away from James. “Hey there, Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes of the One-Oh-Seventh.” 

It takes more than he’d care to admit not to jerk backward. He shouldn’t be so surprised that his kidnappers know who he is, he just hasn’t been addressed by his rank and full name in a while. The soft tone Costello uses when he says his name is… weird. “If you’re wanting my number you’re not getting it.”

Salvini barks a laugh. “You could cut this really weird tension with a spoon.” His tone changes to something far more menacing. “Though I’ll settle for a katana.” As he speaks, he moves to stand next to Costello and aims a sword at James’ chest. 

“Salvini…”

“Y’know I’m starting to think you want to fuck him more than you wanna get paid for killing him, Cos.” 

Costello throws a glare in his direction before quickly looking back at James. “Put the sword down. You use the sword and this whole thing is gonna find its way back to you.”

Salvini grumbles and flips the katana up to shove it into the sheath on his back. “Hate you,” he mutters at Costello, and pulls a gun from the back of his pants. “Fine.” And he aims at James.

James looks at Costello. The sharp thing that had brushed against his jaw is an arrow, he can see it still hanging loosely from Costello’s fingers. “You’re not going to kill me.” 

“You wanna bet?”

“Salvini,” Costello says sharply as his partner takes a step closer. “You need to back off.”

“How much am I worth?” James asks, eyes on Costello’s face. “It’s a lot, isn’t it? Decorated soldier, designer in Stark Industries research and development. Public face of several charities aimed at helping disabled kids and assisting immigrants and refugees coming into this and other countries because of war.” He nods contemplatively, gripping the armrests of the chair he’s strapped to in an attempt to quell his slight tremble. It doesn’t matter how many times he’s faced enemy combatants, doesn’t matter the training he’s gotten from the military and from Jess and her friends: a gun in his face is still a bit nerve wracking. 

“Who contracted you guys anyway? Was it Justin Hammer? He’s been after my designs for years, and he’s hated me since I turned him down last fall.”

Salvini looks between James and Costello. “Turned him down…” He trails off and it hits him what James hadn’t explicitly stated. “Holy fuck, Hammer wanted to go to Bone Town and you told him no?” 

James shrugs as much as his bonds let him. “He’s not my type.” He thinks for a moment, watching his captors as closely but casually as he can. “Or maybe it was Aldrich Killian? He’s been a pain in the ass of SI for years.”

Costello almost keeps himself from glancing at Salvini, but doesn’t quite manage. 

He flexes his fingers on the arms of the chair, and it hits him that he’s got advantages now over the last time he was tied to a chair with a gun in his face. He does his best not to draw attention to his prosthetic arm. “I’ll take the silence to mean I’m right?” James asks, finally feeling a little confidence fighting back the worry. 

“It wasn’t that AIM fuck,” Salvini replies, a little too hasty.

“Shut the fuck up, Salvini.” Costello kicks him in the shin. 

It’s the distraction that James needs. He grits his teeth, balls his metal hand into a fist, and yanks. The restraints don’t break but the arm of the wooden chair does, and he forces himself to stand. The front legs break, and really they should have strapped him to a metal chair. He swings the chair around, still attached to his arms, and knocks Salvini’s gun arm down; the chair stays mostly intact. He’s pretty sure he’s not going to get far, but he’s at least going to make a problem of himself.

Salvini shouts as the gun clatters to the floor. “You fucker!” He pulls the katana from his back, not caring about the gun for the moment. 

Costello groans. “Aww, chair. Should have found a metal one.” He grabs something from behind himself as James runs backward at the far wall, attempting to break the chair off of himself. “Barnes, if you could just sit down, we can make this relatively painless.”

James throws himself against the wall. The chair shatters and falls to pieces behind him. The cord and zip ties around his arms and chest go loose and he rolls his shoulders. “I’ll take the hard way, if it’s all the same.” His hands are loose at his sides, stance wide. 

Salvini gives the katana a little spin, light glinting off the blade. “You fucking hit me. Made me drop my gun. Who does that?” 

Costello levels his bow, arrow nocked and half drawn. “We’re getting paid four million for you,” he says, answering James’ earlier question. 

“Is that all?” He rolls his shoulders again. Being tied to that chair and having been drugged and transported to where ever they are had left him feeling stiff.  “Each, or all together?” 

That draws Salvini up short. “...Together.” 

“I’m actually sort of offended.” 

Costello doesn’t lower his bow. “What?”

“Do you know how much Stark Industries has me insured for?” He raises his brows. “Well?” 

“Uh…”

“A couple billion,” murmurs Salvini. 

James laughs, a short and almost mean sound. “That’s fucking right. A couple billion. So you guys getting offered a measly four million to kill me? That’s ridiculous. I’ll give you four million  _ each _ to not kill me.”

Salvini’s katana lowers. He turns to Costello. “Holy shit,” he stage whispers.

“Holy shit,” he echoes and finally lowers his bow. “Uh, give us a second?”

James nods and gives them their time. If they don’t want the money, they’re giving him a lot of time to come up with a plan to escape. If he wanted, he could go for the gun still on the ground, get it, and shoot the both of them before they could do much to him.

“Okay we talked it over,” starts Salvini.

“We need confirmation that you’re not gonna short us. Transfer the money now.”

James holds out a hand. “Gimme a phone and I’ll do it.” 

Costello adjusts his grip on his bow, the arrow still nocked, and fishes his phone from his pocket. He tosses it over.

“Don’t get any ideas about fucking us over,” Salvini says, raising the katana in a clear threat. “We can still kill you.”

He rolls his eyes. “You should really not threaten the person who’s paying you each a lot of money.” He swipes his thumb across the screen and takes a second to appreciate the adorable one-eyed golden retriever on the screen. “Cute dog,” he says softly as he opens the browser and begins the process of getting into his bank account.

“That’s uh… That’s my dog, Lucky,” Costello says, scuffing a foot along the bare concrete floor. “His depth perception is shit but-” 

Salvini punches his arm. “Shut up. Just ‘cause you wanna get in his pants doesn’t mean you start sharing personal shit with the mark.”

“The mark wouldn’t be opposed to Costello getting in his pants,” James replies. “Gimme an account number to put this in?” 

Costello rattles off the number, pleasantly rhythmic and just slow enough for James to tap it in without fumbling. “Uhhh… No hard feelings, right?” He shifts his weight and adjusts his grip on his bow. “You wanna get coffee sometime?”

“Jesus tits,” mumble-groans Salvini. 

James looks up from the phone, eyebrows raised. “I… Yeah. Yeah actually I could go for coffee.” 

“Name’s not actually Costello,” he starts.

“I figured as much,” James returns.

“Fucking gag me. Can we not do this here?”

Costello persists, despite his partner’s fake gagging. “It’s Clint.” 

James chuckles, and admits, “Clint suits you a lot better than Costello.”

Salvini groans, louder and longer than before. “Since we’re doing sharing and bonding, I’m Wade and I find the two of you disgusting but also very adorable. This was a  _ kidnapping and attempted assassination _ . You’re not supposed to get a date out of an attempted assassination.” He turns to Clint. “That’s what you told me last time I tried.”

Clint shrugs. “Things change.”

James watches them, and laughs. He steps forward and holds the phone out to Clint. “All done. You can check your accounts before letting me go.” He lowers his voice just a touch, smiling in that soft way that Jessica’s confirmed makes most people all warm inside. “I went ahead and added my number. Get ahold of me when you want to get that coffee.” 

“As much as we appreciate the payout, we can’t just let you walk out of here.” Wade turns to Clint. “Just ‘cause you’re getting a date out of this, we can’t give away the location.”

Sighing, Clint takes his phone back. “He’s not wrong. Do you mind if we drug you again? We’ll take you back to Stark Industries.” 

“Pinkie promise, if it’ll make you feel better.” 

He looks at Wade’s hand, pinkie extended, and laughs. James laughs so hard that he has to take a minute to catch his breath. “Sorry. That was just… ridiculous.” He shifts forward and hooks his pinkie with Wade’s. “Don’t break a pinkie promise, man.”

He looks deadly serious as he replies, “Pinkie promises are  _ sacred _ . I would never break one.” He releases James’ pinkie and nods to Clint. “Do it.”

Clint rolls his eyes. While James had been laughing, he’d readied another dose of what they’d used to knock James out back in Stark Industries. “Sorry about this,” he says as he approaches James. “Seriously, no hard feelings and a coffee date?”

James eyes the syringe for a second but raises his chin to give easy access to his neck. “No hard feelings. Like I said, I’m a bit offended that Killian would only pay four million for me.” He smiles, small but soft and genuine as Clint gets even further into his space. “And you really are my type.”

Clint’s cheeks heat up as he puts one hand on James’ shoulder. “Actually, the pain in your neck was a distraction for shooting you in the hip. Hip’s a lot better for sedatives.” He taps the side of the injector gun against James’ hip. He ignores Wade gagging behind him. “You’re gonna feel it more this time though.”

Wade gives another annoyed groan. “He’s complying, Clint. Just get him in a vein and make it work faster.” He’s sheathed the katana and is cleaning up the evidence that they’ve used the room, shoving things into a duffle bag. He stops with one fist against his hip, the other hand pointing emphatically at the broken pieces of wood on the floor. “This chair is an absolute gonner. I’m glad it wasn’t an antique, you brute.” 

James offers his arm to Clint. “Sorry about the chair. I don’t like being tied up without consent.” 

Clint chokes on his own saliva, pushing James’ sleeve up as he does. “You can’t say stuff like that when I’m about to knock you out.” He rubs his fingers along James’ forearm and up to his elbow, carefully checking for a vein he can stick. 

He shrugs. “Just tellin’ it like it is.” He waits until Clint looks at him. “Don’t leave me hanging about that coffee, okay?”

Clint nods and readies the injection gun. “Deep breath,” he says, more to himself than James. 

James looks away as the needle nears his skin, and it doesn’t take long for the sedative to kick in.

\--

“Shut up, Wade.”

“I can’t believe your dick got us paid twice as much.”

“It wasn’t my dick. It was Killian being a cheap ass.” 

Wade laughs and pulls into a parking space in the garage attached to the main Stark Industries building. “Totally your dick. Don’t forget to text him.” 

“Help me get him out of the trunk.” 

\--

James wakes up with Jessica nearby. He can hear her yelling at someone, and he’s really glad he’s not on the receiving end of it: she sounds  _ pissed _ . 

“Jess,” he groans. “You’re loud.”

Her yelling cuts off in the middle of a tirade of swears. “Oh fuck you, Barnes.” She makes her way over to him, and she looks better than he expected. “I can’t believe you got yourself kidnapped and were so annoying they gave you back.”

“Can’t believe that you didn’t get shot.”

“Shooting stopped as soon as they got you off the skywalk.”

James thinks about it and nods. “That makes sense.”

“Glad you didn’t die,” she adds, though it looks like it physically pains her to say something that could come across so sentimental.

“Me, too.”

She pulls her phone out of her back pocket. “Wanna see how we found you?” She holds the phone out to him.

Taking it, James is greeted by his own unconscious face with a piece of paper pinned to his chest. He swipes to the next picture. The note takes up the whole screen. “‘Sorry. Blame AIM. X-O-X-O, Guns for Hire,’” he reads outloud. He laughs, and hands the phone back to her. “Wow.”

“We’re already going after Killian for this.”

“Figured as much.” 

“Your phone’s been blowing up since we got you back. I think most of them are your sisters, but…” She shrugs. 

James nods and realizes for the first time that he’s in his office, propped on his couch. “Thanks. Go do what you gotta do.” He waves her off and gets up to grab his phone from his desk. It takes him a minute get across the room, legs feeling a little like jelly with the remnants of the sedative in his system. When he has his phone in hand, he sifts through the messages from his three sisters and finds a couple in there from a number he doesn’t recognize. 

**_Glad you’re safe._ **

**_Coffee at Zabka in Bed-Stuy sometime Saturday?_ **

He grins, because he can’t help himself. He’s always been told that he makes bad decisions (usually by Jess and his parents and his youngest sister Becca), but he likes this one and wants to give Clint a chance until things blow up on him. He taps out a quick time after checking his desk calendar and sends it. He settles into his desk chair, smiling like an idiot. 

\--

**To:** Aldrich Killian, CEO of Advance Idea Mechanics   
**From:** James Barnes, R &D Lead of Stark Industries

Recent events have shown me that you are not only a jealous man, but a terrible judge of a person’s worth. The fact that you not only hired hit men to assassinate me because I refused to sell you my designs or any of the designs of my team, but also grossly underpaid them is eye opening. 

I hope that you get everything you deserve in this life.

_ James B Barnes _

**Author's Note:**

> come check me out on [tumblr](http://roxashighwind.tumblr.com)!


End file.
